


Just One Yesterday

by ghoulical (MysAlexa)



Series: Averno [2]
Category: Creepypasta - Fandom, Everyman HYBRID, Marble Hornets, SCP Foundation, Tribe Twelve
Genre: Backstory, Creepypasta and Slenderverse in the same universe, Gen, I don't know why I wrote these, More characters to be added, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Side Stories, Supplemental Stories, The Operator and the Administrator are the same, backstories, i was bored
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-02-05 11:27:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12793590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MysAlexa/pseuds/ghoulical
Summary: "I'd trade all my tomorrows for just one yesterday."----------They were normal once. Teenagers, college students, film enthusiasts, and the list goes on. Little did they know, they were doomed from the very beginning.A collection of short stories that occurred prior to the events of the main story: facilis descensus averno.





	1. Awake

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate universe in which the Slenderverse series co-exist with popular creepypasta and SCP universes.  
> Disclaimer: Abigail Bishop, Joel Gilliam and Skylar Martin belong to me--all others belong to their respective owners/creators.
> 
> You don't have to read the main story to make sense of this, but it is recommended.
> 
> And yes, the title is a Fall Out Boy reference.

She’s been asleep for so long.

Now, she was awake.

And she had absolutely no idea where she was.

Four, white-padded walls surrounded her. When she looked to the ground, the floor was no different, and so was the ceiling. It was a small room, about half the size of her bedroom, maybe the same size as the backyard shed where the lawnmower, other gardening tools and a singular pink flamingo were, as far as she remembered.

This. This wasn’t home.

She looked down—even her clothes were repulsive. A button-up crisp-white shirt, long sleeves, and identical long trousers—a mentally unstable individual’s garment. She was barefoot, however, and though she couldn’t see any air ventilation in sight, the room felt cold, and her toes curled inwards before she brought her knees to her chest, shivering. 

She was scared—no, scratch that, she was _terrified_. Her breaths became short and quick, and she glanced around the room in panic. There was just one door in sight, right in front of the metal bed she was sitting on—other than a ceramic closet and a sink opposite to it, those three were the only furniture present in the room, and she didn’t dare to get off it, in fear that the floor might just collapse beneath her.

Maybe she was just being paranoid. But how could she not—where in the world was she?

The door was made of smooth silver metal, just like the bed. There was a single small window about one-twentieth of the size of the door itself, in top center, but she could see nothing but white through it, and she was terrified what she would see if she took a closer look into it.

She swallowed hard. This was no different than the hell she’s been trapped in for… God, how long had she been out? How long had she been in there?

There was no sense of time there, because time didn’t make sense—nothing made sense. Now, all she remembered was darkness—darkness and static, and something clawing at her head, at her body and physical form. Darkness crawling into her mind, taking her body, invading her thoughts and making them theirs. She could still remember herself—her _soul_ —slipping away, switching between bouts of agonizing torture and overwhelming numbness, until she couldn’t take it anymore. All she wanted was to die, but whatever it was that was invading her body, mind and soul… it lived forever.

And now she was here.

The pain… it was ebbing away, but she twitched every now and then, at every new sensation as she moved as little as possible. She placed her head on top of her knees, feeling burning tears flooding her eyes for the first time in a long while, letting them flow down, dampening her cheeks and her knees. Her tight grasp on the fabric of her trousers eventually gave away, and she couldn’t help but touch her face, feeling the tears against her own skin, suddenly relieved that she was alive again.

Then, her fingers reached to the back of her head. Her hair was course, more than she remembered, locks of brown entangled amongst themselves. It was much longer than the last time she felt herself conscious, too, reaching all the way down to her waist—an uncomfortable length, when she’d been living with shoulder-length locks for most of her life.

How long had she been out?

Then, she heard a noise—it came from outside. Gathering enough courage, she managed to let her feet settle down on the ground, and, after testing to make sure it wouldn’t just collapse into rubble beneath her, she stood up—and almost fell right after.

Her head was light, and it felt almost too weird to be in full control of herself again—to be _alive_ again. It felt like she’d lost her limbs a long time ago, and now they were returned to her, but she’d grown far too accustomed to being a handicap. Now, with one hand on the bed, she straightened her posture, trying to find balance with her own two legs, and started to walk.

The noise grew louder now, and when she finally reached the door, there was a loud bang. She peered out the window, the images not making sense at first until she realized she was staring at an empty hallway—as a matter of fact, perhaps not quite as empty as she thought at all.

Movement appeared from the corner of her eyes. She looked to that direction, almost gasping as soon as she noticed a figure dressed in gray, halfway inside yet another room that she assumed to be similar to hers. Even through the locked door, she could hear them grunting—it was a voice of a man’s—and eventually, he began to move further into view, and her hand flew to her mouth when she realized that man was wearing full military armor, like a soldier’s, complete with a rifle strapped to the man’s back as well, clattering against his body as he was being pushed and pulled in and out of the room like a game of tug of war.

Another figure came into view, but only his back. They were both pulling, struggling against something, but whatever it was, it was starting to become obvious that it was no match compared to the two men, and perhaps many more that weren’t in her field of vision. Moments later, as she continued to watch, she saw wild, more erratic movements, limbs hitting either of the two armored men. Whoever it was, they were putting up quite a fight.

“Just knock him out!” she heard one of the men shout to the other, and without hesitation, the latter dropped whatever he was holding, brought the rifle to his hands and struck the struggling person with the butt of the rifle, and everything went silent.

Seconds later, the two men dragged the person out of the room and down the hallway, and her eyes went wide as soon as she laid her gaze on the person’s face.

“TOBY!” Her hand, curled into a fist, pounded against the metal door, ignoring the sharp pain that came right after. “TOBY!” She felt her knuckles crack. “NO! LET HIM GO!”

She felt all the life drain out of her as they ignored her screaming, all her yelling, until they all disappeared from view around the corner, and she slid down the door, tears pouring down her face. She’d spent so long trying to find him—and now, he was just within a few feet away just moments ago, and now he was gone again.

“Let me out of here!” With all the strength she had left, she pounded at the door, but her voice was fading away. “No… Toby…”

“He’ll be back, kid.”

She stopped breathing as soon as she heard a voice that came from nowhere, her palm laying flat on the metal surface.

“This is the sixth time they took him—he’ll be back, if he makes it out of there alive.”

It was a man’s voice. A little brash, somewhat raspy—and it came from the direction of the sink.

She was breathing again. Then, slowly, she turned to the direction in which the voice originated from, and she noticed a crack—just a little hole, between peeled and worn out foam padding of the wall, beneath the sink where a pipe ran into it and travelled into the inner layers of the wall, but enough for some light to flood in from the room adjacent to hers.

She crawled her way to it, then leaned against the door.

“Who are you?” she asked, her voice small, nervous that it might be someone with bad intentions, but the voice spoke back.

“I should be asking you the same question. I’m surprised you’re even responding to me this time around—I’m pretty sure I’ve never heard you being so _vocal_ since you’ve been here.”

Confused, she frowned. “H-How long have I been here?”

The voice took a while to respond. “I don’t know. A few months, I think.” He paused, then, “Wait, you don’t know?”

“I don’t even know where I am,” she replied. "Or how I got here.”

A short period of silence followed. “You’re with the SCP Foundation—in one of their facilities, I think. As for how you got here… I would’ve asked you the same thing myself. Usually the people who end up here are either convicted criminals, an SCP object themselves, or you’re like me—someone who has lost everything and don’t want others to get caught up in the mess I’ve made.”

SCP. Her blood ran cold. She’s heard of that name before, and from she’s heard about it, she didn’t feel the slightest bit reassured at all.

“Which one of them are you?”

She froze. “Not the first one, I don’t think.” She _hoped_ it wasn’t the first one, though she had a good idea of how she ended up here, and how Toby ended up here, too. “I think I’m one of the subjects here.”

“ _Objects_.” He scoffed. “They call them— _us—_ ‘objects’ here, whether you’re human or not or somewhere in the middle. I’ve seen SCP objects who are human before, but the thing is, the Foundation doesn’t consider them humans anymore. Anyway, about your apparent sudden loss of memory…”

“That wasn’t… me.” She stared at the ground. “The person you met during the time I was here… it wasn’t me.”

The person seemed to have given it some thought, then replied, “There hasn’t been another prisoner here for weeks. How can it not be—”

“I mean, I wasn’t in control.” Static filled her head, and she tried to shake it away. “I wasn’t myself. It was someone else in this body, not me.”

Another moment of pause. “Kid, are you okay?”

She wanted to say she was. “No.”

The man scoffed again. “Neither am I. Looks like we’re on the same boat then.” Sarcasm was dripping from the man’s voice, but there seemed to be some amusement as well. How could anyone be calm in a situation like this, still amazed her. “The name’s Tim, by the way.”

Her posture stiffened. That name… it sounded familiar, too. “Skye. Skye Martin.”

“That boy earlier—Toby, was it?” he questioned. “Is he your boyfriend or something? I’ve never heard anybody sound so desperate like you were.”

“N-No.” She swallowed hard. “He’s a friend, from childhood. He’s like a brother to me.” She paused for a moment, deliberating on what she allowed herself to say, then added, “I haven’t seen him in so long—I thought he was dead.”

“Ah, figures.” The man chuckled. “It’s nice to have friends—someone you can count on. Mine _are_ all dead, so there’s that.”

Her shoulders dropped. Even with such a nonchalant voice, it didn’t take her much effort to catch on to the hint of sorrow in his voice as soon as he mentioned his friends. Understandable—she couldn’t imagine how she’d react knowing Toby had actually died.

“So, tell me about yourself,” the man continued, his voice changing in an instant. An attempt to divert the topic of conversation, she figured. “It's nice to have human contact once in a while—I haven’t talked to anybody in weeks. I can’t trust these freaks, and you’ve been silent to me this whole time. Well, all except this one time.”

She straightened her back. “What did I say?”

“The first time you got here, you demanded to see two people,” he said. “That boy, Toby, and another—I think you said his name was ‘Jack’ or ‘Jake’ or something like that.”

Her breath stopped and her eyes went wide. _Jack,_ she exclaimed to herself. _Is he here, too?_

“Then when they were gone, I tried to talk to you, but you insisted there was nothing to talk about. Heck, you even said you knew who I was, said my name even when I haven’t introduced myself to you at all, and that I was ‘safe, for now.’ Honest to God, I still have no idea what you were talking about. I’m assuming that’s the ‘thing’ that was possessing you or whatever?”

Her face went pale. “What?”

“Your exact words were, ‘We have nothing to talk about, Timothy Wright. But you are lucky—know that you are safe—for now.’”

Her mouth fell open. Did that mean that _it_ knew about this man, whoever he was? And yet, this was the first time she met him.

Did that mean…

“I mean, I have a guess,” he continued, but his voice was trailing off. “But some part of me wants to believe you weren’t suggesting what you might’ve been suggesting. Besides, the whole thing’s over now—you’re yourself again, right? Maybe the agents will finally let you out.”

She doubted that. “I doubt that. Whatever it is, I don’t think it goes away.” Her mind and soul wasn’t safe, and she knew that. “I’m just here _now_. And I don’t know when I’ll go ‘under’ again.”

He let out a feeble laugh. “Well, I know how that feels. Good thing that’s over now—for me, at least.”

“How so?”

He didn’t seem to be expecting a response like that. “Ah, forget about it. It’s all in the past. You don’t sound old enough to understand.”

“Try me.”

He chuckled, but it sounded rather mocking to her ears. “All right, I guess everyone here is nuts some way or another.” She heard him breathe out a long sigh. “There’s this _thing_ following me around since as early as I can remember. I’ve been in and out of mental hospitals all throughout my childhood because of it, and I thought my condition got better as I grew up to the point that I could go to college and get a job and live a normal life. Then, about almost a decade ago…”

She was about to tell him that she was fine if he’d stopped, but he spoke up again before she could even say anything about it.

“Me and my friends were part of this project. I guess, because I was involved in it, that _thing_ began following them, too— _stalking_ them, ruining their lives, making them paranoid. One of them started becoming more violent, cancelled the project and he… he began to hunt us down. Each and every single one of us. Before I knew it, I was the last one left.”

“Why?” she blurted out before she could stop herself. “I mean, what happened?”

“He thought that if he killed every single one of us, he could stop that _thing_ from… becoming more powerful, or something along those lines,” he scoffed. “Thing is, I don’t think it _can_ be stopped, but I trusted what he said anyway. I mean, in the end, I did have to stop him regardless—he was going to kill everyone else who might be involved in this—but that’s the reason why I’m here now.”

“You gave yourself up to them? To the SCP Foundation?”

“I thought it’ll keep me away from people, so no more innocents can get hurt. But I didn’t think these SCP guys would have another ulterior motive—they knew I was involved, and they wanted to study _it_ , so here I am now. And god, I hate this place.”

“Because they’re keeping us captive here, like prisoners?”

“Not really,” he said. “I mean, sometimes they let us out. Sometimes they let some of the more ‘normal’ ones like us walk around and roam free for some periods of time before we have to head back to our containment cells. And I suppose that’s effective enough for my current condition. Hell, they even let me have a smoke every once in a while, but only outside in the courtyard. I think they’re considering on classifying me as ‘neutralized,’ but I don’t know if they’ll ever let me out. Part of me hopes they won’t.”

“What?”

“Maybe they’ll let you see him,” he continued, his voice becoming distant. “That boy, and the other one you mentioned about that time, too. They’re cold, but they’re not as cruel as you think they are, just because they’re putting us in containment cells like these. They say it’s for the protection of the general public. I mean, that’s what I’m here for—so no more people will get involved.”

“About that… ‘ _thing’_ you talked about earlier.” She didn’t want to ask, but part of her wanted to. Maybe it was her other, maybe it was just her own plain curiosity. Humans are like that, aren’t they?

“Forget about it,” he said with a dismissive tone, and she could tell he didn’t want to divulge too much into that. She didn’t blame him; she herself wouldn’t talk about it if anyone uninvolved questioned her about it. “I might have been free from it, but I don’t think it’s safe enough to talk too much about it to everyone I meet. You might get infected, too.”

_Infected._ The word felt familiar in her tongue.

“But what did it look like?” She wanted to know. She had to know. “Just, you know. Out of curiosity. You said we’re safe here, right?”

This time, it was a longer pause, much longer than previously. He was deliberating it, perhaps still paranoid that she might get ‘infected,’ and though he hadn’t told her anything about it, she knew full well that she had been infected for much longer than he thought, maybe even longer than him.

“It’s a thing made out of nightmares,” he then told her, his voice quieter than usual. “You’ll know when you see it. It’s this really tall, human-looking figure, and it looks like it’s wearing like an actual suit, complete with tie and everything. It almost looks like a normal human, but the only thing that’s different is its face—it doesn’t have one. Just a white surface where it should’ve been.”

She was right.

“Der Großmann,” she whispered under her breath, eyes wide, and she remembered everything.

“What?”

She didn’t know what happened next; before she knew it, she found herself frozen, unable to move—even when the door to her room was suddenly thrown open and the same armed guards from earlier burst into the room, their weapons in hand, two of them reaching for either of her limbs and began yanking her out the room and into the hallway.

She screamed. She repeated the same three words, ‘GET OFF ME,’ over and over again, thrashing against her captors’ grips but they were much stronger than she was, and before long she felt her lower half being dragged across the floor, just like Toby was minutes ago. They brought her out the door and down the hallway, to whatever hellhole they’ve been taking her to each time.

The last thing she saw was the very figure she feared more than anything else in the world, standing at the very end of the hallway, and everything went black. 


	2. Escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if the SCP Foundation seems a little out-of-character here (though does it apply to them since they're a whole organization and that?).

As soon as she opened her eyes at the overwhelming sense of numbness that overtook her entire body, she took yet another sharp intake of breath, hoping this was the last for tonight.

Regardless of how many shocks they’ve given her tonight, she was still in control. Siren had been adamant this time around, keeping both of them sane, but it meant that she would receive more shocks until she was brought out.

_She._ Skye doubted that Siren had a gender at all, but with the name she was given and called, not to mention the fact that the entity possessed _her_ , it seemed plausible enough to call the entity a ‘her.’

Not that the entity minded at all.

She didn’t know how much time had passed since she was taken from her cell again—regardless, she wanted it to be over. Just as her breathing had begun to grow steady, however, she heard another click—another flip of a switch—and one of the scientists’ voice speaking up for yet another time that day.

“Again,” she said, and Skye closed her eyes as she braced for the worst.

_I’m sorry,_ she told herself, and to the other entity inhabiting her body, and even more so to the rest of the people who got locked up in here as well, possibly because of her unwilling doing—her two friends, Toby and Jack. Toby was still back in the same cell area she was locked up in, with his own little isolated padded room right across from hers, and he was promoted to straitjacket just a few days ago because of his aggressive tendencies. She hadn’t seen Jack at all since the day she woke up here for the first time—in fact, it was the day she was conscious for the first time since Siren began possessing her—but from what she heard, he was in here with them, just in a separate containment area, assigned as SCP-7231.

Like him, she also had her own designated object number: SCP-7307, though Skye herself was referred to as SCP-7307-1. An SCP _object_ —not subject, but _object_. They didn’t consider her human anymore. They didn’t even refer her as a human anymore. Her pronoun within these walls was ‘it’ because she was an object, not a subject.

Her thoughts were cut off when all of a sudden, she felt the flow of electric current passing through the wires hooked to either side of her head, then it touched her skin and she jumped. She felt herself opening her mouth to scream but she didn’t hear anything—couldn’t even hear her own voice. It felt like an electric shock from touching an exposed live wire with her own finger, but the initial sensation came from her temples, into her skull and her brain, then through her entire body, and the shock was amplified at least ten times that of a mere wire. 

Then it stopped. She had her eyes shut again, so she peeled her eyelids back up again. Still nothing. That meant this wasn’t over just yet. Not until they got what they wanted.

She was tired. She wanted to sleep, but she didn’t dare herself to sleep. She could see it—see _them,_ whenever she closed her eyes. She could see eyes everywhere, then the lack of them. She could see darkness and static, and it terrified her.

She wasn’t safe here. Siren knew that—that’s why she kept resisting their efforts to keep them bound down. That’s why Skye herself fought against them as much as she could, but she would always find herself strapped to the chair, her wrists bound to the armrests, things stuck to her head and putting electric currents strong enough to fry her brain.

She wanted out of this place. Despite what they told her, she wasn’t safe here. She knew they were lurking in the shadows like the demons haunting her mind, just barely out of sight, but she knew they were there. She kept seeing them there.

But most of all, right now, she wanted nothing more than to see Toby and Jack again. She could see Toby through the window of her door, but nothing more. It pained her to see them drag him out of his room and to whatever place they took him to, perhaps for testing or interrogation, or worse. The last time she saw him before this place was all those years ago, when the Administrator first kidnapped him and took him to their realm, made him another mindless soldier whose sole purpose was to do the Administrator’s bidding. When their neighbors condemned him dead, and a terrible person for having killed his own father. And Jack—she hadn’t seen him since the day he left for college, which was even further back, and the last she _heard_ of him was that he disappeared after a massacre occurred in the college he went to, and he was most likely the one responsible for it—something she refused to believe even until now. She wondered what in the world he was doing in a place like this—was he one of them, too?

“Again.”

She braced herself for another shock. But it never came.

Instead, everything went dark.

She opened her eyes. Not everything—she could still see, but the room was dark and the lights were out. She could hear the sound of her own heavy breaths and, in the distance, the sound of a power generator shutting down. No buzzing, no humming from the torture equipment sitting next to her—nothing else.

Then, everything was red, and a deafening sound filled her ears. It was never-ending, followed by dampened click and swish as the door to the room flew open, revealing to her a hallway filled with people and similarly opened doors.

Panic. Chaos. Everybody running around all over the place, frantically moving from one room to another, some up and down the hallway, disappearing around corners. Red light filled both the room and the hallway.

“A containment breach!” someone inside the room yelled out loud, and it was the only one she heard before the people in the room, too, became engulfed in panic. Skye stiffened where she sat, beads of sweat beginning to form on her forehead and sliding down the sides of her face, then she tugged at the restraints on her wrist. Lightly at first, then the same feeling of dread inside of everybody around her began to fill her thoughts, too, as her light tugs became sharp yanks, then she screamed for someone to release her.

Nobody paid attention. Nobody cared. They all dashed out the room, leaving her alone there.

She heard gunshots in the distance. She knew that the Foundation contained all sorts of anomalies here, many of them sentient and could move on their own. With the doors all open, she wouldn’t doubt that most of them roamed free around the facility at the moment, and it made her even more terrified for her own life.

“HELP!” Nobody heard her. She yanked at the restraints. “HELP ME! PLEASE! SOMEONE GET ME OUT OF HERE!”

Within moments, the hallway was near empty, with only a few lingering individuals left, but they were either on their phones or radio transceivers, trying to request help for their own sakes. They didn’t pay attention to anything she screamed out, anything she yelled out.

In their eyes, she wasn’t human—she wasn’t one of them. She was an object, and she was going to be treated as such.

She didn’t realize she was crying until she felt liquid dripping down from her face to her lap, leaving wet spots on the dull-white pants she had been wearing since the first time she woke up here. She rocked herself back and forth, afraid of what might appear around the corner, afraid she might die right then and there.

She closed her eyes again when she heard screams coming from the open hallway. She didn’t want to know what the cause of them was. She didn’t want to know what was going to happen to her. She hoped her death would be painless.

_I’m sorry,_ she said again, hoping the other inhabitant of the body to reply each time, hoping this time it—she—would. _I’m sorry_ , to the people she’d abandoned, the family she longed to meet again. _I’m sorry,_ to the only two people in the world she cared about more than anything else, and for the first time, she allowed herself to go under.

“Skye.”

She froze.

“Skye, is that you?”

She didn’t want to open her eyes again. She was afraid it was over. Was it over?

“Skye, wake up! We need to get out of here, c’mon!”

Despite her fear, she complied. Then she screamed.

But something stopped her. A gloved hand, held against her mouth, muffling her voice before she could say anything.

She looked back down the hallway, hoping she could signal someone for help, but her eyes went wide as soon as she saw everyone that had remained in the hallway lying on the ground, in pools of their own blood.

She looked back up again. It seemed humanoid, wearing all-black, its face concealed with one of the most terrifying masks she’s ever seen, like the kind in horror movies—a shade of deep royal blue, no features but black eyeholes with a strange black liquid dripping down the mask from them, and looking straight into them, she saw nothing.

“It’s me,” it said with a low, somewhat raspy voice, but there was something in it that clicked something inside of her—something familiar. “Skye, it’s me, Jack—Jack Nichols, your friend. You remember me, right?”

She didn’t make a sound, nor a move when his free hand reached up and pulled the mask off his face, then she gasped.

It _was_ him—it was unmistakably him, but at the same time, it wasn’t. His features were still as she remembered them, perhaps a little older, but his skin was tinted with a dark gray, ashen complexion, almost black with the lack of light in the room. And his eyes—his captivating blue eyes, one of the most beautiful ones she’s ever seen—they were gone. In its place were hollow sockets, cartilages in the same shade of his skin, and the same ink-black substance pouring out from them.

Standing before her wasn’t the boy she once knew. In his place was a monster—a cruel monster who no doubt had killed the people in the hallway, and perhaps soon, her as well.

She didn’t know how or when, but she soon felt the restraints around her wrists disappearing from where they once were, her hand flew up and slapped him.

He staggered back, pulling his hand away from her, and she immediately took the opportunity to spring up from the chair she was sitting on and push herself back as far away from him as possible, her hands grasping around the floor in search of something to defend herself with but all that was within reach was one of the metal electrodes stuck to her temple earlier, and with both hands she held it, its free end pointed straight at the monster before her.

“Get away from me, you monster!” she spat at him, glaring at him with a mix of disgust and fear. “Stay away from me! You’re not him, you’re a _monster_!”

“Skye.” He took a step towards her, but it didn’t stop her from pushing herself as far back as possible, but the wire could only go so far, and there was just so much space she could move around. But when she looked straight back at him again, he didn’t seem angry at her like she thought he would be—instead, his face twisted to an expression of hurt. “You have to believe me. It’s really me.”

“No, you’re not him!” She wasn’t going to be fooled. “You’re not him! You’re just a monster who looks like him!”

She watched his every movement, even as he yanked his left sleeve upwards to reveal his forearm, with ashen skin taut over his bones, revealing how somewhat malnourished he was beginning to be, but something tied around his wrist glinted under the faint light coming from outside, something that caught her eye.

A makeshift bracelet, made out of a small piece of leather strap, one that she remembered having gained from her grandfather’s discarded belts that he allowed her to make little crafts with. Brown and torn around the edges with a piece of metal, bent with much force and poor effort to form the buckle, attached to the edge. Though it was out of sight, she knew there was an inscription etched into the leather, one that bore his name.

She almost burst to tears. Without even thinking twice, she reached for her own makeshift bracelet around her own left wrist, ran her thumb over the inscription that stated her name. She was surprised she even had this with her. She liked the thought of an adamant Siren insisting they let her keep it, regardless of what those Foundation bastards demanded.

“I remember this,” he said with a calm voice—the same voice she had missed for so long—as he held his arm out, touching his band. “And I remember _you_. I remember _all of it_. It’s me, Skye—it always has been.”

She dropped the object in her hand, and, without thinking, she went straight towards him, threw her arms around him, engulfed in his embrace, and felt his arms wrap themselves around her.

She was home.

And she was crying her eyes out.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” There was some humor in his voice, but there was sorrow, too. “It’s okay. I’m here now. Everything will be okay, I promise.”

“What happened to you?” _And who did this to you?_

“I’ll tell you later.” _Tell me now_. “We have to get out of here first.”

She felt something being pressed against her hand. When she looked down, she saw it was a mask, but unlike his, it was all black, with eyeholes, a curved shape for a nose and where the mouth area should be was two long white pieces of tape, crossed over each other to form an ‘X.’

Siren’s mask.

“C’mon,” he whispered to her as he handed her the mask, then replaced on his own. “We’ll get the rest of our stuff, then we’ll get Toby, then we’re out of here for good, okay? We’ll run as far away as we can from her and never turn back—just like back when we were kids, right?”

She didn’t complain. She put the mask on after some hesitation, however, then took his hand as he led her out the room and down the hallway, but she tried her best to not look at the bleeding bodies on the ground, not wanting to know what he did to them.

They turned around the corner, speed-walking down the next hallway to the next—he seemed to know where he was going, but even the next following hallways were littered with unmoving bodies as well, though there weren’t evident signs of how they died. She didn’t want to know, and she didn’t want to ask.

The next turn, she saw something halfway through. Several people with weapons and armor—soldiers—who turned around as soon as the two arrived there, then immediately pointed their weapons at the two of them.

“Do not move! Hands in the air, now!” one of them barked through the masks they wore, and Skye swallowed hard as she realized she had two options at this point: comply, or run.

They had guns. She doubted she could outrun them, but before she made a move, Jack motioned for her to move back behind him, which she did as she looked up at him in confusion.

“Stay here,” he said. “And close your eyes.”

She wasn’t prepared of what he was going to do—she just froze there but saw the glint of light reflecting off something hidden in his right hand, then watching as he disappeared from her sight and ran straight for the men. Only then did she close her eyes.

She heard gunshots. Many of them. She feared the worst, then it stopped.

“C’mon.”

It was his voice. She peeked around the corner, and her eyes widened when she saw every single soldier lying on the ground, dead.

Some blood had splattered onto his clothing. One remaining soldier turned up alive, crawling away from him out of his sight, but he caught sight of the movement within a split second and did something she didn’t expect she would ever see him do.

He grabbed the soldier by his neck, pinned him to the wall, then stabbed an object straight into the soldier’s chest, burying it deep inside the man’s heart before he pulled it out, and she caught sight of the bloody scalpel in his hand before he dropped the body on the ground next to his colleagues.

He stared down at the dead body, and she stared at him, then he turned his attention back to her.

“It’s who I am now,” he murmured with a somber tone in his voice. “It had to be done. C’mon, we can’t waste any more time. We need to keep moving.”

“You killed him.”

“Oh, come on, Skye—”

“You _killed_ those men!”

“It’s either them or us, Skye!” He never raised his voice to her, and her breath caught stuck in her throat as soon as he did, but he swallowed hard and looked back down the hall. “But I’m not leaving here without you. I left you back home when you needed me most. I’m not leaving you again, so if you want to, we need to move— _now_.”

When she didn’t move, he went straight back to her, grabbing her wrist with his hands but his grasp wasn’t painful.

“We all have blood in our hands,” he said as he relaxed his jaw, looking straight at her. “Siren told me _everything_ , all right? And I know that you feel guilty about what you’ve done while you’re with them—Siren does, too. She hates herself because of it.”

With his free hand, he then tilted her head up towards him so they could face each other eye-to-eye—no, eye-to-eye socket. Whatever happened to his blue orbs, she wondered.

“And I hate myself, too, for what I am now,” he continued. “You’re right, I _am_ a monster. And I’ve done terrible things—I’ve killed people, and the soldiers and Foundation members here just adds up to my body count. I’m doing this because I know you don’t want any more blood on your hands, but it’s either us or them, no in-between, and I refuse to leave you behind again. So let me spill the blood for you.”

She swallowed hard, but she wasn’t one to protest—she hated this place, and she might even have done the same thing herself if she wasn’t such a coward or a pacifist.

He was right. She spilled blood with her hands, too. Siren made her do it—no, the _Collective,_ and the _Administrator_ made her do it. And he has killed many others too, perhaps, from what she heard in the news.

Keeping her head up high, she slowly moved down the hallway towards him, took his outstretched hand in hers again and allowed him to lead her past the dead bodies, back to their original objective.

Before long, she reached the hallway her cell was located in. Without even saying anything to him, she rushed down and went straight to the open door where she knew her friend was held in, and saw the boy there, still in his straitjacket, standing in the corner of the room, eyes wide but ready to fight, but they were soon filled with relief as soon as she took her mask off for a brief moment and he realized who she was.

“Skye!” he exclaimed, and she couldn’t resist but moved to hug him, moving away just to let Jack cut his straitjacket on the sleeves to allow his arms to move again. 

She felt whole again. Both of the two most important people in her life, standing right before her. She’s never felt happier in her entire life.

Once he was free to move, they exited the room and headed further down the hallway with Jack leading, but she stopped just a few feet afterward as soon as she heard a voice coming from yet another one of the cells—the one right next to hers.

She went to the direction of the voice, and for the first time, she saw the face of the man she’d been speaking with a few weeks ago, the man who survived through the same hell both she and Toby did. 

It was a good thing she hadn’t put her mask back on again.

“Tim.”

He seemed displeased to see her, and she wasn’t surprised. “Skye.”

“Come with us,” she said, but he shook his head.

“Are you crazy?” he exclaimed. “Leave, and then what? Let the Operator haunt me again for the rest of my life? I’m safe here—for the first time in my entire life. You’re going back out there, then you’re putting yourself straight in its crosshairs—putting yourself straight back into hell.”

“We’re not safe here anyway!” she retorted back, knowing she was right. “The Operator, or the Administrator or whatever it is—the SCP Foundation can’t stop it. You don’t know it—you don’t know the Collective like I do. I’ve seen what they can do, and there’s nothing the Foundation can do to stop them—to stop its influence from spreading.”

This shut him up. Maybe it was because he acknowledged the truth in her words, too. Regardless, he was listening, and that’s all she ever wanted out of him.

She looked back down the hallway. Jack and Toby had stopped for her, glancing over their shoulders then turning around to face her, and though she couldn’t see his expression through his mask, she knew he was waiting for her, knowing that it was an important matter if she had to stop.

“But you know how to stop it, don’t you?” she said as she turned her attention back to the man currently glaring at her in disdain. “You know how to stop its influence.”

“On myself!” His expression turned into a scowl. “It’s just prescription medicine—you can get it yourself at some apothecary or something.”

She looked down. “Fine,” she said. “If you want to give up and stay here, then fine. You think you can just lock yourself up here and think the world is going to fix itself? The Operator doesn’t stop unless someone stops it.” She took a deep breath before saying, “And I know I can’t, but… I want to try.”

_Good girl_. A foreign voice spoke to her from the depths of her mind, but it was warm—welcoming, not hostile. It was the first time her other ever spoke to her, and maybe Siren really wasn’t as bad as she thought it—no,  _she_ was.

At least she wanted to try. Skye herself didn’t know how, but she had faith in her other. She knew better.

“But letting myself get locked up here isn’t going to help anyone,” she continued. “The Foundation thinks they can understand the Operator—and the Collective, too. You don’t know what they’ve done to me just so they can get to Siren, too. She’s intentionally holding herself back so they can’t get any information out of her. If the Foundation gets what they’re after, they’re going to put themselves in more danger than any of us will, and _more_ innocent lives will have to go to waste. Is that what you want?”

“Skye.”

She turned back to Jack. He tilted his head down the hallway.

“They’re coming,” he added. “We have to leave.”

She looked back at the man she once thought could be her ally. He wasn’t glaring at her, at the very least, but he was taking too much time for deliberation. She could hear the sound of footsteps in the distance. She wasn’t going to let them put her back to that chair anymore.

With one last look at the survivor, she jogged to catch back up to her two friends, and together they headed to where they assumed the exit would be. They even stopped by at one of the open rooms to retrieve the two hatchets Toby stole from his old house that once belonged to his deceased father, as well as their clothes, including the boys’ respective beloved hooded jackets as well as Skye’s sweater, which she remembered having worn the day she blacked out the first tie. They proceeded to head out one of the exits to the facility, though not without Jack dispatching a few more guards with Toby’s help, thanks to his hatchets. Chills ran up her spine after seeing how remorseless Toby had been in killing those men, but had to accept the cruel truth that Jack had just told her.

_It’s either us or them_.

There was a line of trees within sight, just in the distance beyond an open field area the facility was in. A perfect place to hide.

She heard more footsteps coming behind her. A lot less but rushed as well, and she noticed Jack gripping his scalpel and Toby raising one of his now-bloody hatchets as they turned around, but only to see one person heading out the same doors they exited through—the one person she least expected to see.

He was limping a little as he caught up to them, stopped and stared at the company for a moment but shook it off as he continued on his way to them without any further hiccups.

“I think my car is still parked here somewhere,” he said as he walked past them, but when they didn’t move, he turned back to them in confusion. “Well, c’mon! It was your idea to get the hell out of here, right? It won’t take them forever to find out we’re gone. I know a place where we can hide out ’til the coast is clear.”

Snapping out of her daze, she turned back to her practically-lifelong comrades, a certain spark in her eyes that hadn't been there since the day she lost her parents—since the day she lost everything. The others must've seen it in her—the first time they did, quite possibly—as Toby's eyes soon lit up with childlike excitement, and she could just imagine the close-lipped smile behind Jack's royal blue mask.

Taking the first course of action, she took one step forward, then another, then another before she broke into a light jog to catch up to the older man who had stopped for a second time, turning around to glance back at them, waiting for them to follow. Not long after, she heard footsteps follow behind her, a glance sideways showing her the two boys who walked in the same line as her, just as determined and hopeful of what the future held for them now.

And for the first time in her life, she wasn't alone. She didn't feel alone—she had friends. Allies. A grey-skinned, eyeless 'monster'; a mentally-ill but stubborn-as-hell adolescent whose sister she made a promise and would never break; a man who had gone to hell and back and no longer had anything left to lose; and, of course, the formless, faceless entity sharing this body with her, whose sole goal now was to destroy the very true monster who started this hell for them in the first place.

It was quite the unlikely team, she had to admit. But maybe, just maybe, they might make it out of this alive.

She knew they weren't, but they had to at least try, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so begins the story of our four misfits, but if you've read the main story, then you'd know these pleasant moments wouldn't last long. Yes, I know, I am a cruel person with a cruel heart.
> 
> But apologies for the mushiness; I know a lot of people find it beyond annoying to see Creepypasta characters associated with typical human emotions and sentimentalities, preferring them to be the psychotic, heartless serial killers they really are, and such people include myself as well, but hey, at least I didn't romanticize them (at least, not in the way that I would be aware of). And besides, the friendship bond between the main three is quite an important aspect of the main story itself, so it would be fitting to see how tight their bond is, even prior to the events of the main story, and I think these short stories would convey that even more.
> 
> Also, perhaps this calls for another backstory from their past? Hmm?
> 
> But anyways, this one and 'Awake' were both written a while ago, and I've just decided to publish them here in AO3 only recently, just to fill in the long gap that is the break I'm taking from writing; AS Levels were a bitch and distractions are a thing, and I am ashamed to admit this but they include a certain Korean boyband that has become the main topic of conversations with my friends for the past month due to recent events--Fall Out Boy is still and will always be my #1 with P!atD as a close second, so I'm not going to turn full on stereotypical mainstream, trend-loving teenage girl all of a sudden because I'd rather kill myself than see the day that I fall into such a depressing state of mind.
> 
> And don't worry--if Troy Wagner, Adam Rosner or any of the EMH crew starts uploading shit on their YouTube channels again, you can bet I'll drop whatever the hell I'd be doing right at that moment and would be willing to sacrifice cellphone data plan for the sake of watching those long-awaited updates (also, can we talk about Firebrand making a long-ass but ultimately heartwarming essay about identity and all that, then Noah just responds with a meager 'ok'; then whoever hacked his account and spammed emojis everywhere just to piss Noah off, and Noah's birthday, and also the latest livestream which I MISSED because I was in the middle of CLASS at SCHOOL, and the fact that it's almost an entire year since the EMH crew has uploaded anything? Like, did HABIT kill them off or something?).


	3. SCP-7307: Siren

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah. I tried making a fake SCP report for Skye/Siren and others; keyword here being 'tried.' Apologies if there aren't certain technical terms I should've used or if I didn't follow regular guidelines, I don't have much time to read up on SCP writing guidelines but I've read enough. Then again, there is a reason why I never want to attempt to submit an SCP article there.

**Item #:** SCP-7307

**Object Class:** Euclid

**Special Containment Procedures:** ~~ SCP-7307, and subsequently SCP-7307-1, is to be kept in a humanoid containment cell in a separate containment area from both SCP-7231 and SCP-7468. It is to be subjected to scheduled electroconvulsive therapy in Room ██ of Site-███ under orders and direction of Dr. █████. Personnel assigned to SCP-7307 are to ignore any requests it makes to see SCP-7231 or SCP-7468. ~~

**Description:** SCP-7307 is an entity of unknown origin, and does not appear to have a permanent humanoid form, though it is believed that its existence is tied to SCP-7000. It does respond, however, to the name ‘Siren’, though it is unknown whether it is its given name or an alias, such as those known for similar entities such as itself. Moreover, despite not having a physical form, it is able to possess humans of our world, though only one such subject has been known so far, and will be referred to in this document as SCP-7307-1.

SCP-7307-1 is a young woman, age 22, named Skylar Martin. She possesses short brown hair reaching to her shoulders and appears to be of Caucasian and Hispanic descent, bearing a height of 1.65 m (5 foot 5 inches) and a weight of 50 kilograms (110 pounds). Her only known relatives, both her parents and grandfather, are deceased due to separate tragic incidents, but she is shown to have close relationships with SCP-7231 and SCP-7468. The first known instance of her possession by SCP-7307 is ██/██/2014, and the entity has been known to remain in her physical body ever since. Whether or not the entity can be removed, temporarily or permanently, from the physical body is yet to be known by both Foundation personnel and even the entity itself.

The extent of the abilities that SCP-7307 exhibits is yet to be known, though it appears to be a diminished portion of the abilities that SCP-7000 possesses, and similar to most related SCPs. Without a physical form, it is known to exhibit abilities of time manipulation, teleportation, reality manipulation and possession. With a physical form or inhabiting SCP-7307-1, the extent of those abilities are able to affect the current world we exist in with a much more significant effect, though the entity has shown reluctance in demonstrating such abilities. The reason of such behavior has been speculated, and it should be noted that at the time of containment, SCP-7307 is no longer connected to SCP-7000 and its fellow entities, though it claims to continue to retain most of its abilities, but has gained a sense of free will and self-conscience as a result. It also shows some sense of empathy towards its current host as well as SCP-7231 and SCP-7468. Because of this, both the entity and its current host has made repeated requests to see both SCP objects and vice versa.

Neither the entity nor the host have shown the conscious ability to switch consciousness between one and the other, though they are known to be aware of each other’s presence within the physical body and the host is more often than not the dominant conscience. Despite this, there are rare occasions in which the entity forces itself to become the dominant conscience, and through electroconvulsive therapy, we are able to force one or the other to become the dominant as well.

**Addendum:** Following the containment breach on 11/19/2016, SCP-7307, along with SCP-7231, SCP-7468 and SCP-7393 have escaped their containment units in Site-███. Their current location is unknown, though it is believed that they have rendezvoused at the same location and can therefore be re-contained together, if ever found. Any sightings of any of the aforementioned SCP objects are to be reported to Foundation personnel immediately.


	4. SCP-7231: Eyeless Jack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another fake SCP report. Background/origin story based on 'Origin of Eyeless Jack' by La-Mishi-Mish on Deviantart, since it is the most popular one by far: https://la-mishi-mish.deviantart.com/art/Origin-of-Eyeless-Jack-363990065
> 
> Again, apologies for any inaccuracies.

**Item #:** SCP-7231

**Object Class:** Euclid

**Special Containment Procedures:** ~~ SCP-7231 is to be kept in a humanoid containment cell, in a separate containment area from both SCP-7307-1 and SCP-7468. It is to be given a pair of animal kidneys, preferably cattle or sheep, once every day. Personnel assigned to SCP-7231 must be above the age of thirty (30), wear protective clothing and are to ignore any requests it has made to meet SCP-7307-1 or SCP-7468. ~~

**Description:** SCP-7231 possesses the appearance of a young male at the known age of twenty-three (23) with dark auburn hair and dark gray skin, bearing a height of 1.8 m (6 foot 2 inches) and a weight of 74 kg (164 pounds). Other than its complexion, its other distinctive features include its lack of eyes, and where they would normally found is instead hollow eye sockets with texture and color similar to its skin; sharp, pointed teeth, which are known to be strong enough to tear through human flesh; its blood is replaced by a black, ink-like substance that has been tested to have the same composition of blood plasma as well as an undetermined compound. Its diet would typically consist of raw human kidney, preferably freshly cut from its intended victim, though it appears to have grown accustomed to consuming raw animal kidney as well.

Prior to containment, SCP-7231 was known as Jack Nichols, a college student originating from █████, attending █████ College. He appeared to be a normal human male, turned into an anomalous entity when he was claimed to have been lured into the campus’ nearby forest by a fellow classmate, named Jennifer ███, the latter of which was revealed to be a member of a cult worshipping a supposed demon called Chernobog. Nichols was then made into a human sacrifice by the cult, and appeared to be possessed by the demonic entity, becoming the entity it is now.

It is known to be responsible for the massacre of twelve (12) students located in the exact same location as stated above, the victims of which included Jennifer ███, as well as numerous other murders that followed afterwards with the same modus operandi, that of which was murder due to blood loss with victims bearing incision marks created by a sharp object, often found to be a scalpel, as well as traces of SCP-7231’s blood. The object has been dubbed ‘Eyeless Jack’ by the public media when the mass killing occurred, then it ceased activities about eight months ago.

SCP-7231 has shown repeated reluctance to communicate with any SCP personnel and even other humanoid SCPs. However, it has made repeated requests to see SCP-7307-1 and SCP-7468, though the former has been recorded to be more frequent compared to the latter. In addition to originating from the same hometown and have been contained at the same time and location, all three SCP objects are acquainted prior to containment, and possess a deep bond akin to friendship or even a relationship of siblings between the three of them.

**Addendum:** Following containment breach incident on 11/19/2016, SCP-7231, along with SCP-7307, SCP-7468 and SCP-7393, have escaped their containment cells in Site-███. Their current location is unknown, though it is believed that they have rendezvoused at the same location and can therefore be re-contained together, if ever found. Any sightings of any of the aforementioned SCP objects are to be reported to Foundation personnel immediately.


	5. SCP-7468: Ticci Toby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another fake SCP report. Origin story, of course, is based on Kastoway's original story.

**Item #:** SCP-7468

**Object Class:** Neutralized

**Special Containment Procedures:** ~~ SCP-7468 is to be kept in a humanoid containment cell, in a separate containment area from both SCP-7307-1 and SCP-7231. Personnel assigned to SCP-7468 are to ignore any requests it makes to see SCP-7307-1 or SCP-7231. ~~

**Description:** SCP-7468 possesses the appearance of a young male at the known age of twenty-one (21) with short brown hair and skin of a complexion much paler than a normal human’s, bearing a height of 1.67 m (5 foot 6 inches) and a weight of 54 kg (120 pounds), going by the name Tobias Erin Rogers. It suffers from several mental illnesses, including but not limited to schizophrenia, congenital insensitivity to pain with anhidrosis, Tourette’s syndrome and post traumatic stress disorder, along with some bouts of amnesia. Its PTSD is implied to have derived from having survived a car accident dated back to ██/██/2014, which the driver of the car involved, its sister, ██ Rogers, did not survive. This is also the first recorded instance of interaction between SCP-7468 and SCP-7000.

Though it has not shown to possess any anomalous properties on its own, SCP-7468 has been known to have extensive interaction with SCP-7000, and has been recorded to have gone through an undetermined amount of time serving as a ‘proxy’ of SCP-7000. In terms of the established hierarchy for all known proxies of SCP-7000, this entity is implied to have been categorized as one of the ‘Hallowed.’ During this time, SCP-7468 has been responsible for at least seventeen (17) known murder cases, including that of his own father, ███ Rogers.

It should be noted that at the time of containment, however, SCP-7468 no longer bears a connection with and is no longer under the influence of SCP-7000; it is therefore classified as Neutralized. The exact date in which the connection has been terminated is unknown, though from what can be gathered from previous interviews, it is strongly implied that SCP-7307 is the one responsible for this after SCP-7307 itself cut off its connection with SCP-7000.

SCP-7468 has shown repeated reluctance to communicate with any Foundation personnel, and is known to display aggressive behavior towards Foundation personnel. However, it has made repeated requests to see SCP-7307-1 and SCP-7231. In addition to originating from the same hometown and have been contained at the same time and location, all three SCP objects are acquainted prior to containment, and possess a deep bond akin to friendship or even a relationship of siblings between the three of them.

**Addendum:** Following containment breach incident on 11/19/2016, SCP-7468, along with SCP-7307, SCP-7231 and SCP-7393, have escaped their containment units in Site-███. Their current location is unknown, though it is believed that they have rendezvoused at the same location and can therefore be re-contained together, if ever found. Any sightings of any of the aforementioned SCP objects are to be reported to Foundation personnel immediately.


	6. Change

_October 2008_

 

Skye missed the school bus that afternoon.

That meant she had to walk all the way from school back to the house, because the last time her grandfather had tried to drive a car, he lost control of it around an intersection, grazed a pick-up truck and ran straight into a light pole. It was about half an hour’s worth of walking distance, so it wasn’t all too bad. Besides, this meant she didn’t have to spend the next fifteen minutes squeezed in between those other nitwits she called her ‘classmates,’ with her sleeves pulled down, jacket zipped up and beanie pulled over her ears.

Still, she had to do all three anyway, with the sub-zero temperature, light grey clouds lining the skyline and the russet brown leaves dotting the snow-covered pavement she walked down. At the very least, it was for a different reason.

The snow days were different here than back home. There, snow days meant she didn’t have to attend school for at least a week, and spend her days either building snow forts and snowmen in the backyard, or stay in to enjoy a steaming cup of hot chocolate, a pile of blankets and a good movie on Netflix. And maybe fall asleep on her mother’s lap as she sang her lullabies, with her father playing the piano by the fire.

She couldn’t do any of those here. She couldn’t do them anywhere else on Earth. Not even home.

With a sigh, she closed her eyes and willed the memories away. It hurt just thinking about them—about _them_. But how could she not? It was a miracle she was able to spend at least a single second each day without thinking about them.

She missed them.

Maybe she should’ve waited for the bus. She needed that perfect distraction—the distraction of now, so she wouldn’t be too focused on the then.

_The road._ She nodded with renewed fervor, eyes flitting up, staring down the street she was passing through, turning around the corner to reach the neighborhood playground, biting down on her lip as she tried not to stare. She couldn’t remember the last time she found herself in a place like this, a place that was familiar and unfamiliar to her all at the same time. It had the same monkey bars, the merry-go-round, the slides and the swingsets, rusted under the blanket of snow that covered their top surfaces. She could imagine spring, when the younger children would come out, run and hop around from one hunk of metal and plastic to the next, laughing with glee.

Laughing. The one thing she had yet to do since the day she moved here.

She blew out a chilled breath. She was too old for such childish things, anyway. She was thirteen now, about to step into high school in less than eight whole months. High school kids don’t loiter in playgrounds. They hang out in shopping malls, beneath canopies and sipping coffee together, chatting about whatever drama was circulating around the student body, purses on top of their tables and half a dozen paper bags filled with clothes with tags littered at their feet.

At least, that’s what the others were doing, she figured. As for her, she had to walk back to the house, lock herself up in the bare, one-windowed room her grandfather allowed her to stay in until the day she could move out, and bury her head beneath the mountain pile of homework her teachers didn’t even assign.

There was no time to pretend she was a child again. No time to make up for her lost childhood. No time to pretend nothing had happened at all.

She was about to turn her head away and act like she saw nothing at all when she heard the echo of a voice—a cry of pain—cutting through the silent cold air like a hot knife on cold butter. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as she stiffened her posture, her hands that were clasped around the straps of her backpack curled tighter until her knuckles turned white underneath the dark knitted cloth of her gloves. Her eyes darted over to the direction of the source of the sound, having noticed movement in the corner of the playground, and stared.

There, beneath the giant oak tree and just behind the metal bars of the merry-go-round, were a group of people—boys, just a couple years older than her, in their suffocating winter clothes that bore bright, eye-catching shades. Beyond the line of standing kids, however, she could make out the outline of a smaller boy with dark hair and fewer layers, arms wrapped around his knees, shivering both in the cold and in fear. Standing between the two parties was a startling sight—a girl wearing feminine shades and about just a couple layers as well, the tips of her short blonde hair peeking out from beneath her pink beanie, but despite the colors, a dark shadow was cast over her face as she stared up at the older boys, arms outstretched, shielding the smaller boy.

Though too far to see with certainty, Skye could’ve sworn she saw the girl’s lips quivering despite the hard gaze, just before the two locked eyes for the shortest of moments before she followed her gaze back to the boys, to the tallest of them, watching as he curled his gloved hands into a solid fist, and she dropped her bag.

Skye didn’t remember what happened next. All of a sudden, she blinked, breathing hard as rushes of cold air filled her lungs and were exhaled out, her own hands curled into fists, and the tallest boy—their leader—on his back on the snow-capped ground in front of her.

Adrenaline was rushing through her veins, but it subsided as soon as it came. When the boy stood back up to his knees again, she caught the frightened gaze of the wide-eyed girl standing over the boy in the shadows before her vision was blocked, the boy now facing her, towering over her, draining the life out of her.

“Who the fuck do you think you are, huh?” the boy growled, his voice indicating he was at the end of his growing years but his demeanour was far from innocent. Skye took a cautious step back. “You think a little wimp like you can even make a scratch on us?”

His hand reached out but her knees had frozen in place, and before she knew it, his fist was curled around a large portion of her hair, yanking her head towards their direction, the pain spreading through her scalp bringing tears to her eyes.

“Little girl,” he sneered, lips curling back to bare his yellowing teeth at her. His breath smelled like rotten fish, it made her stomach do somersaults—and not the good kind. “You should’ve run when you could, little girl. But I guess losers like you can’t go too far from these pathetic excuses for life, either, huh?”

Despite the burning liquid pricking the corners of her eyes, she bit down hard on her jaw, closed her eyes and steeled her nerves.

Then, she swung her leg and kicked.

Then she fell to the ground, and all she could hear was a loud grunt of pain and, “ _Run!_ ”

She didn’t know whose voice it was—she didn’t care. She saw the girl from earlier and the boy she was protecting up on their feet and sprinting across the playground back to the main road, taking advantage of the stunned bullies’ moment of weakness, and disappearing from sight. Skye was not too far behind them.

She stopped just once, to sprint the other direction up the road to where she dropped her bag, latched onto one strap and went after the other two, turning around tight corners, slipping through narrow slits between houses, jumping over white picket fences, and never looked back.

They didn’t stop. None of them knew when to stop, but when they did and turned back, the bullies were left in the dust.

Once the adrenaline began to die down once again, Skye realized how crazy all of it was—how much of a fool _she_ was for not thinking twice about her actions. Those bullies were giants compared to herself, and there was no doubt that they would beat her into a bloody pulp if she hadn’t act fast, and she usually never did. It was a miracle to even escape from that ordeal unscathed, with the exception of the few strands of hair she just lost. It was no doubt the most excitement she’s ever experienced since the day she moved here.

And she loved it.

She didn’t even realize she had a smile on her face until she looked up at the other girl and saw hers, and both teenagers broke into a fit of laughter.

“Holy shit,” the other girl breathed out, one hand on hip and the other against her forehead. “Sweet mother of Jesus, that was _insane_.”

Skye swallowed hard. “Yeah.” _‘Insane’ is an understatement, if anything._

“The name’s Lyra,” the blonde said with a grin as she stretched her hand out to Skye, who stared at it for a good few seconds before shaking it.

“Skye.”

“And that’s my brother, Toby.” Lyra took a few steps to the side, allowing her a glimpse of the younger boy who was still hunched over, hands on knees, still shaking and twitching rather aggressively every now and then.

The boy looked up upon the mention of his name and smiled, waving a meek hello. Skye couldn’t help but notice how pale his skin was—it was almost an ashen grey tint, but she spoke none of it. He was still twitching, too, cracking his neck to the side multiple times, to the point that it worried Skye in case something was wrong with him, but his smile told her otherwise.

“Those assholes are always giving him a hard time,” Lyra added with an exasperated sigh. “He’s quite the problematic one, but he’s a good kid. Wish people just left him alone—left _us_ alone. Good to know there’s still _some_ Good Samatarians out there, as suicidal as you are for even daring to go up against those guys. Still though, thanks.”

An unknown feeling began to bloom from the center of Skye’s chest. It was warm and welcoming, just like Lyra’s handshake earlier. A pleasant feeling that fought back against the coldness of winter nipping against her skin. It felt nice.

A welcome change from the darkness of her past.

“It was my pleasure.”

Lyra’s smile widened. “I think we’re going to be great friends, you and I.”

 

* * *

 

 

_January 2009_

 

Skye pulled her beanie down, tight around her head, almost covering her ears. She resisted the urge to scratch the back of her neck until she reached her locker, and just as soon as she unlocked and threw it open, she felt a presence approaching from behind, and all of a sudden her beanie was off her head.

The blonde girl standing before her eyed the top of her head down to her neck and curled her lips back. “Nice haircut.”

Skye scowled and snatched the beanie back but didn’t put it back on. She turned around to give her best friend a full view of her now-shoulder-length dark brown hair, a complete opposite to Lyra’s blonde strands, which had now grown down to her armpits.

All she heard was a snicker from the latter before she saw the locker beside her being thrown open, and she pulled the beanie back on.

“Did you do it yourself?”

“Does it look like I have the money to go to a hairdresser’s to get it done for five whole hours?” Skye scoffed, putting books away as she thought back to the little mason jar full of dimes and pennies that she kept beside her bed. She remembered staring at it before she grabbed the pair of scissors and snuck her way to the bathroom. Then she remembered staring at the mirror, almost wincing when she heard the first _snip_ , before relief washed over her, one small wave at a time. “I don’t even think I have money to buy lunch today.”

“Don’t worry, girl—I got you covered.” A small brown paper bag was thrown over the metal locker door separating them two and landed right onto her hands. She didn’t want to question where it came from, but one intake of breath made the insides of her mouth to start to water. She stashed it away inside her bag for safe keeping. “But hey, it looks good on you. And for what it’s worth, I’m sure Jack will like it.”

Skye stiffened at the mention of the name. “Jack?” she asked in full disbelief. “You mean Jack Nichols?”

“He’s been sneaking glances at you, too, you know. It’s not a one-way thing no more.”

“I doubt it.” She wanted to cringe at the mere thought of the sophomore student, in contrast to Lyra’s suggestions, so she tried to shake it out of the depths of her troubled mind. “There’s nothing for him to look at.”

There was a short period of silence before Lyra spoke up again, enough to allow Skye to suspect that their conversation was about to take an uncomfortable turn. “You should go talk to him.”

Skye almost choked on air hearing those words leave Lyra’s mouth, shaking her head in denial. “No. Never.”

“He’s right there, you know?”

She didn’t even want to turn her head to any direction other than her books. “Maybe when a demon possesses me. At least I won’t be conscious when I do.”

But she didn’t listen to her. She never did when she’s rambling on about something she’s absorbed with, and it was quite apparent that Skye’s non-existent social life was another topic of conversation that would last for a while now, even though the most interaction Skye had with the sophomore was an embarrassing incident the former would rather not talk about.

“Hey, maybe you’ll get a date once you do. It’s your birthday soon, after all.”

Birthdays. She’d rather not think about it for now.

She slammed the locker shut and waited until Lyra was done, her ears tuning out of her blabbering.

Maybe she’d get a nice birthday this year, though. After all, she finally had friends to spend it with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And hey, let me know if you want to see an SCP file of Tim Wright of MH. I don't know how it will work, but if you guys wanna see me try... and fail, you know... Just comment down below.  
> Or tell me what story you'd like to see me tell here. Maybe you wanna see my own take on other parts of their pasts that might have been told by others before but you wanna see how I would rewrite/fit it in here, I don't know. I'm running out of ideas, heh.


	7. SCP-7393: The Masked Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's an old file. I don't know why I haven't posted it up yet, but here you go, I guess.
> 
> It's not too long, not as much as I'd like it, but it's something. Also I tried putting in an image of the mask for the report but failed because it caused problems with the paragraph structures and I didn't bother to fix it, but I'm sure y'all know what it looks like. Just... pretend it's there in the 'real' report, alright?

**Item #:** SCP-7393

 **Object Class:** Neutralized

 **Special Containment Procedures:** ~~SCP-7393 is to be kept in a humanoid containment cell. It is to be given weekly psychiatric therapy, although requests for items such as media for entertainment or cigarettes may be approved at the discretion of~~ Dr. █████.

 **Description:** SCP-7393 possesses the appearance of a male young adult at the known age of twenty-seven (27) with dark brown hair and fair skin, bearing a height of 1.7 m (6 foot 7 inches) and a weight of 78 kg (172 pounds), named Timothy Wright. Its previous medical records state that it has history with schizophrenia as well as recently diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder, though it has been implied that both are side-effects of the established relation between the object and SCP-7000, which dates back to as early as 1995.

Though it has not shown to possess any anomalous properties on its own, SCP-7393 has been known to have extensive interaction with SCP-7000. A detailed record is attached in Document-7393-A below; a copy of each of the enclosed ‘entries’ are also available for viewing on the YouTube platform, uploaded by the channel Marble Hornets, which appears to be once managed by a man named Jay Merrick, a friend of SCP-7393’s, until his subsequent death, and the ownership of said channel has since fallen to the hands of SCP-7393 itself. While the channel and its video contents are available for public viewing, it is strongly advised that Foundation personnel maintain the video contents’ public status as a work of fiction, including the existence of SCP-7393.

 

> Note from Dr.  █████:
> 
> Although it is tempting to delve into Reddit pages to debunk conspiracy theories and rumors, failure to comply to these guidelines will no doubt result in your immediate termination of employment.

The main contents of the video entries involve SCP-7393 as well as several other film students’ various interactions with SCP-7000 and subsequent confrontations, resulting in the deaths of all known subjects appearing in the entries with the exception of SCP-7393, the last known survivor of these encounters. However, it is known that constant exposure to SCP-7000’s presence has resulted in the forming of a connection between it and SCP-7393, therefore resulting in recurring loss of memory as well as several recorded fits of violence, of which the object has done under a different persona, maintaining its anonymity during these episodes with a plain white mask with black facial features. All these events are likely to be the cause of the object’s post-traumatic stress disorder.

It should be noted that at the time of containment, however, SCP-7393 no longer bears a connection with and is no longer under the influence of SCP-7000; it is therefore classified as Neutralized. The exact date in which the connection has been terminated is unknown.

 **Addendum:** Following containment breach incident on 11/19/2016, SCP-7393, along with SCP-7307, SCP-7231 and SCP-7468, have escaped their containment units in Site-███. Their current location is unknown, though it is believed that they have rendezvoused at the same location and can therefore be re-contained together, if ever found. Any sightings of any of the aforementioned SCP objects are to be reported to Foundation personnel immediately.


	8. SCP-7489: Clockwork

**Item #:** SCP-7489

 **Object Class:** Safe

 **Special Containment Procedures:** SCP-7489 is to be kept in a humanoid containment cell. It is to be given weekly psychiatric therapy to monitor its current mental condition and for any anomalous properties, however it should be kept in restraints whenever outside of its containment unit. Requests for items such as media for entertainment may be approved at the discretion of Dr. █████.

 **Description:** SCP-7489 possesses the appearance of a female young adult at the known age of twenty-one (21) with dark brown hair and pale skin, bearing a height of 1.6 m (5 foot 3 inches) and a weight of 51 kg (112 pounds), named Natalie Ouelette. The object's more notable features in appearance is that one of its green eyes has been replaced with a white, ticking clockface, presumably extracted from an antique pocket watch, though it appears that it has been crudely forced into the object's eye socket with little to no proficiency, as well as the corners of its mouths being cut to the cheeks then crudely stitched back shut. SCP-7489 has a history of mental instabilities stemming from childhood trauma, namely physical and emotional abuse from its familial relatives and surrounding relationships. The subject’s last known location is Facility █████, which has since gone rogue and no longer affiliates itself with the Foundation, and where the subject has been unlawfully admitted as a ‘patient.’ Although treatment assigned to the subject is unknown to date, the subject’s mental state has worsened post-treatment. The subject has then escaped from the Facility and has been known as the direct cause of the deaths of all three of its father, mother and brother.

SCP-7489 is known to have an obsession with the idea or notion of time, believing in a twisted sense of justice in which she targets victims who, in its opinion, do not deserve much longer time to live.

Though it has not shown to possess any anomalous properties on its own, it has been suggested that SCP-7489 has come into direct contact with other fellow Series VIII SCP subjects, including SCP-7000, and has known affiliations with SCP-7468, a former known proxy of SCP-7000. Therefore, while SCP-7489 itself is classified as Safe, this direct connection with fellow SCP subjects should be noted and further studied if possible.

 **Addendum:** Following containment breach incident on 11/19/2016, SCP-7489 has escaped its containment unit in Site-███. Its current location is unknown, however it can be assumed that it has come into contact with escaped SCP-7468 since then. Any sightings of either of the two SCP objects are to be reported to Foundation personnel for immediate recapture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking of rewriting the first two short stories, just because I'm not quite satisfied with how they turned out. Thoughts?


End file.
